


Meanwhile the World Goes On

by 2012bookworm



Series: An Ordinary Night at the Kitchen Table [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 03:05:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11027292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2012bookworm/pseuds/2012bookworm
Summary: Nursey's still not exactly sure why Dex is here, at his house.





	Meanwhile the World Goes On

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This piece does contain an accidental outing and people who don't react as well as they should. For a more complete, spoiler-y warning, see endnotes.
> 
> Title from "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver

Derek opened the front door to find Dex standing awkwardly on the stoop, shifting from foot to foot, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder. 

“Hey.” He said.

“Hey.” Dex replied. “Thanks for letting me come and stay for a few days. Sorry for the late notice. Just… needed to get out of town. Spur of the moment, you know?” There was something tight about the way he spoke, stood, some tension whose source Derek didn’t know. Maybe, hopefully, it was just New York. The city could be overwhelming, especially to newcomers.

“Yeah, of course. Come on in.” He opened the door wider, moved out of the way. “So what happened? Get tired of the smell of lobster?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Dex smiles tightly at him as he walks past, doesn’t roll his eyes, doesn’t chirp back. The feeling of wrong in Derek’s chest grows larger. He’d known something was up since Dex called him the night before, asking if he could come crash for a few days, despite trying to convince himself otherwise. It wasn’t just the short notice – though Dex was the type of person who always, always planned things in advance – but the odd way he’d asked, both desperate and resigned. Derek was pretty sure Dex didn’t know how well he could read him, or he’d have tried harder to sound casual, but it had been two years, and Derek watched people. Granted, the first six months he’d tried really hard to not, to ignore the loud, angry d-man he’d been stuck with, but it ended up being impossible. Not only did the team keep forcing them together in a misguided attempt to make them bond, but Derek had to watch Dex on the ice, and slowly that bled over into just watching him in general. Oddly, Hazeapalooza had been the turning point, not into being friends, or at least something close, but it was the moment when Derek realized that they could be friends, that it was an actual possibility. Dex had been drunk, though nowhere near as drunk as Chowder, and for once seemed almost chill. Derek had bumped into him, and instead of his usual glare he’d laughed, and shaken his head, and bumped back, before going over to get Lardo off of Chowder’s back, and carrying her the rest of the way to the Haus, declaring himself “the most coordinated frog”. It was confusing, this other Dex, and Derek didn’t like being confused. So he had started watching. And now he didn’t know how to stop.

“So Nurse, where should I put my stuff?” Dex had already started down the hall while Derek stood there holding the door open, lost in his own head, like an idiot.

“Yeah, um, there’s a guest bedroom upstairs. I’ll show you, give you the tour.” He closed the door and started to lead Dex through the house. “Dining room over there, we never use it, kitchen just past the stairs, which is where everyone actually eats, lets out onto the garden. Then, second floor –“ He paused for a breath as they climbed the stairs. “Well, I guess maybe it’s really the third floor, but I’ve always thought of it as the second floor, anyway, here we have the nice living room and one office, nothing exciting, third floor is my parent’s floor – it used to have a second bedroom, but they’ve turned that into another office, or something, I generally just keep going up the stairs to my room, which is on the fourth floor – or I guess officially fifth, but because the stoop opens out on the first-slash-second floor, we only have to climb three flights of stairs – and the guest bedroom’s across the hall. Or across the landing, I guess. Just throw your stuff in there.” 

Dex cautiously opens the door indicated, peering around before gently placing his duffle on the floor. There’s a moment of silence, where Derek stares at Dex and Dex stares at his feet, while Nursey tries frantically to think of something, anything to say that isn’t some variant on ‘why the hell are you here.’ Not that he’s annoyed about it, just…confused. Thankfully, Dex speaks before he starts babbling about architecture, or the weather, or something equally horrible.

“Nurse… thanks again. For this. Letting me come crash, and all that. I really appreciate it.” Dex’s hand rubs the back of his neck, and he sounds almost hesitant, which is just wrong. Dex doesn’t hesitate. Derek needs to pick some kind of fight with him right the hell now, just so things feel normal.

“Dude, chill. What are bros for?” Derek barely gets a glare for the ‘chill’. He’s starting to wonder if Dex has been possessed, or… anything really that means he doesn’t have to worry. Though, he guesses he would still have to worry if Dex was possessed, but then he’d at least have some idea of how to fix it. Or, at least he would if The Exorcist could be trusted as a primary source. “Hashtag hockey bros?”

“Really, Nursey? Really? Why?” There’s the full glare. Derek can relax a little.

“Chill.” Dex raises an eyebrow at him. “So what do you want to do? You’ve never actually been to NYC before, right?” Derek could drag him to all the tourist things, this was excellent.

“Nope.” Dex tells him.

“Then, dude, I am forced to drag you to all the hokey tourist spots while you’re here. Except Times Square. I refuse to go to Times Square.” Times Square was the worst. Derek was not going, even to annoy Dex.

“You don’t have to Nursey, I brought my laptop, I’ll be fine just hanging out if you have things to do…” Dex didn’t plead, but the reasonable tone he was using was pretty close. Derek held up a hand. Dex stopped, but with a scowl, so things were pretty normal.

“You don’t understand Dex,” Derek said, excited, “this is our chance to take all the best d-men pics and make Holster and Ransom’s super jealous. We can break their minds!” Dex put his face in his hands and groaned. Derek smiled.

***

Despite Dex’s protests, (“Really Nursey, we don’t have to do this. We could just stay in and watch movies. Don’t you have some of that crap poetry to work on? I don’t need to see New York City!”) they’d had a great time. Dex was weirdly fascinated by the subway, (“Dude, chill. It’s the subway.” “Shut up, Nursey”) and grudgingly went along to the Met, where he abandoned Derek in the modern art section so he could go back to look at mummies. Derek figured this was fair, even if he did spend twenty minutes seriously contemplating using a game of Marco Polo to find his tall, red-headed friend in the massive lobby. It made no sense. Dex was distinctive. (How was he this hard to find? It made no sense. When he told Dex this, he just laughed.) Derek even managed a picture of Dex looking hilariously grumpy in front of a Broadway street sign. Of course, the downside to that photo was that the next three snapchats he got from Holster involved his terrible attempts at show tunes. As expected, Ransom and Holster were overly excited about their ‘sweet d-man bonding experience’. Tomorrow, Derek decided, he’d take Dex to the Statue of Liberty and really make them jealous. Maybe if he begged enough he could even get Dex to wear one of those foam crowns. But for today, he figured he’d make them walk home through Central Park, and if he was lucky, get a picture of Dex with some squirrels. Or better yet, some pigeons. Derek’s sudden mental image of Dex, scowling and covered in pigeons, made him start laughing quietly into his fist. Dex, of course, noticed.

“What?” He asked.

Derek managed to stop snickering. “I bet if we covered you in birdseed we could get a picture of you with a bunch of pigeons. It’d be so great.”

“No, Nursey.” Dex told him, but without heat. He actually looked relaxed, his shoulders mostly loose, hands in his pockets, a small smile on his face as he tipped it up to catch the sun. His freckles had gotten worse over the summer, and his t-shirt had started to stick in the New York City heat. Derek was unexpectedly desperate to know how he felt about New York, if he’d enjoyed the day as much as he’d seemed to, as much as Derek had. When his eyes started tracing the line of Dex’s throat, he jerked his gaze out over the park’s green expanse, noting a few people picnicking on the lawns and a jogger with her dog. It was getting late, he realized, and all they’d had for lunch was a gyro from a local street stand.

“So, when we get back, dinner? There’s a great Italian place around the corner, or we could just order pizza or Chinese, or anything really, everybody delivers here. What do you want?” His words came out too fast, an attempt to banish his sudden desire to tuck his face into Dex’s neck. 

“Umm…do you mind if we just order in something? It’s been kind of a long day.” Dex’s shoulders were less relaxed now and more slumped. Derek wondered how early he’d had to get up to get here before noon.

“Sure dude, Chinese and a bad action movie?”

“Sounds good.” They walked in silence for a few minutes. Derek considers asking at least some of the questions that have been running around his head all day, a background litany of whys. Why are you here? Why me? Why now? But he doesn’t want to destroy a day just shy of perfect, so instead he just bumps Dex with his elbow and looks pointedly at the pigeons strutting along ahead of them. Dex gives him his best unimpressed look.

“Come on, Dex. It’d be hilarious.” Derek says. “I bet I could make a poem out of it. ‘The Man From Maine’ and um… ‘His Feathered Friends?’”

Dex’s look is even more unimpressed, but there’s also a lopsided smile he’s not really bothering to hide. “That may be the worse title I’ve ever heard. And you are not allowed to write poetry about me. Not allowed, understood?”

“Why not? I’m good at poetry.” Derek points out. Also, he may have already written a few poems about Dex. Not that he’ll ever admit it.

“Judging by that title, you’re really not. ‘Feathered Friends’?” Dex rolls his eyes. “Really? Are you suddenly Dr. Seuss?”

Derek bristles a little at that. “Hey, Dr. Seuss was a fucking genius, ok? His books are amazing, and everything is allegorical, which just doesn’t happen in kid’s books anymore, and… are you laughing at me?”

Dex is. Now it’s Derek’s turn for a glare. Dex starts trying to wheeze out an apology. “Sorry, sorry, it’s… it’s great that you’re so into Dr. Seuss. Really. Tell me more.”

“Did you know he did political cartoons? I used them for all my government class assignments at Andover because they pissed the teacher off. And because they’re great, like everything else he did. In fact….” Derek ignores Dex’s muffled laughter and continues with his rant. Mostly to keep the grin on Dex’s face. But only mostly.

***

Once they get back to the apartment, Derek shows Dex down to the basement that he convinced his parents to turn into a media room. He leaves him to figure out the entertainment system while he goes upstairs and finds the takeout menu from his favorite Chinese place. Not that he really needs the menu - he’s got the number memorized – but if he leaves Dex alone long enough, he’ll end up rewiring the entire entertainment system so it works better out of sheer frustration, which is all to Derek’s benefit since he’s forgotten what most of the remotes even do. He calls the restaurant, realizing as he does that he already knows Dex’s standard Chinese order. Actually, now that he thinks about it, he knows Chowder’s and Lardo’s as well. Once he places the order, fried rice and eggrolls for Dex, Lo Mein and hot and sour soup for him, he lingers in the kitchen, checking to see if there’s any milk left in the fridge, starting the dishwasher, which is half-full of cereal bowls and silverware. Once he thinks he’s stalled long enough, he goes back downstairs to see Dex on the floor, the DVD player in his lap, his fingers tracing the path of a cord towards a mess of cables.

“Ok, who set up this system? Nothing’s labeled and everything’s a tangled mess!” Dex complains.

Derek shrugs. “No idea, man.”

“How do you make it work?”

“I… don’t?” Derek admits. “I mostly use my laptop if I want to watch something. I can turn it on and change channels, but that’s about it.”

Dex lets out a frustrated sigh. “How long until food gets here?”

“Um… thirty minutes? Ish?” Derek squints at him. “Why?”

“I can maybe, maybe get this fixed by then.” Dex looks up from his perusal of the knot of cords. “Please say you’ve got beer in this place.”

“Of course?”

“Your job is to get me one. And not spill it walking down the stairs.” Dex looks back down and starts muttering. Derek debates the merits of refusing, just on principle, but decides he did sort of manipulate Dex into doing him a favor, and walks back up the stairs. 

The first beer he opens explodes all over him. The second and third are fine. Since he pulled them from the same six-pack, he doesn’t understand how this happened. He does manage not to spill either of them walking down to the basement. Dex looks up at the sound of his feet, his quick glance changing to a look of exasperation.

“Really, Nurse?”

“What?” Derek asks, defensive. “I can’t drink too?”

“That’s not the problem.” Dex informs him. “The problem is that the whole not spilling it was supposed to be a joke. And yet, somehow, you’ve got beer all over your shirt. How?”

Derek looks down. “The first bottle sort of exploded. This one’s fine, though.”

Dex takes the beer Derek hands him without taking his eyes off Nursey. “I repeat, how?”

Derek winces. “I don’t know?”

“I don’t get you. At all.” Dex shakes his head and chugs half the beer. The feeling’s mutual, Derek thinks.

“Want a hand?” He asks, more out of obligation than any actual desire to help.

“No.” Dex is emphatic. “I am not letting you anywhere near electricity. Go sit on the couch and drink your beer.” Derek does sit. On the floor, next to Dex. He gives Dex a smile when the inevitable glare comes. “If you touch anything, I’m disowning you.”

“You,” Derek informs him, “are not my father.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t do it. Watch me, Nursey.” They sit in silence for a moment. “Where are your parents anyway?”

Derek takes another swig of his beer. “Not here.”

“I got that, thanks.” Dex lets out a pleased noise as one of the cables finally unravels. “I know you said they travel a lot for work. They ok with me being here?”

Derek snorts. “They don’t care.” They don’t even know. Derek hasn’t talked to them since June. He’s not even sure when they’re supposed to be back, or if he’ll see either of them before he goes back to school. He hasn’t decided if he hopes that he will or hopes that he won’t. His mom’s not so bad, brief embraces and rapid-fire questions about his life, a conversation that always feels to him more like a task she’s set herself than actual interest. His father asks questions as well, but they’re all about his future, and always end with him trying to convince Derek to give up ‘this English thing’. Lately, every conversation reduces Derek to half-flippant monosyllables, acting like he doesn’t care as the lecture about ‘wasting his potential’ turns into yelling. He still misses them, but he’s starting to think it’s maybe less them he misses and more the idea of them, of parents who call, who come to see games. Ones who care.

Not that he’s ever telling Dex any of this. Even if Derek hadn’t seen the way Dex’s dad ruffled his hair on parent’s weekend, the way his mom pulled him close, and the easy way Dex acts around them, he would know how much his family means just from the way he talks about them. He’ll tell Derek all about his sibling’s accomplishments with more pride than he’d ever have mentioning his own, and he is always genuinely excited to go home for break. Dex, Derek is sure, wouldn’t understand what it is to yearn for someone never quite there, to live in the grey area of duty and care, always provided for but never with warmth. Honestly, he doesn’t want Dex to have to understand. The place he comes from, it’s a home. Derek didn’t know what home was until Samwell and the Haus, until suddenly there were people, crazy people, but people who cared about him as more than just an obligation. Who checked in on him, who dragged him to movie nights, game nights, why-do-we-need-an-excuse-to-just-hang-out nights, who would make him pie on his birthday and watch out for him when he got drunk. It was heady, and terrifying, and everything he’d ever wanted but didn’t know how to ask for. He did his best to give back as much as he could, proofreading papers, helping Lardo with her thesis, covering Chowder with a blanket when he falls asleep on the couch. He remembers, with startling clarity, seeing Bitty do it before their first game freshman year, and feeling his gut clench at the easiness of the gesture.

Next to him, Dex is still muttering over wires, though it looks like nearly everything has been plugged back in. He’s shifted away from Derek towards the cabinet that normally holds all the electronics, starting to coil cables and place them out of the way. His beer, nearly empty, sits next to his hip, and every now and then he’ll reach over and take a drink, always keeping one hand on whatever piece of technology he’s balancing in his lap. Derek wants to run a hand down the arch of his back. He takes another drink of his beer instead, and is desperately grateful to hear his phone ring.

“Chinese?” Dex asks.

“Chinese.” Derek confirms. “I’ll go grab it.”

By the time he’s made it back down with the take-out cartons, Dex has the TV on and is navigating to Netflix. Derek settles on the couch and starts opening boxes. They argue briefly about what movie to watch, finally deciding on one of the Mission: Impossibles. Dex dozes off halfway through, curled in the corner of the couch, legs stretched towards Derek, but jerks awake at the start of the climax. Derek jerks his head away from watching him. Normally, after the first movie was over, Derek would suggest starting another one or maybe playing video games, but Dex is obviously struggling to stay awake, his eyes blinking closed every few minutes and his body sleep soft. Derek nudges him off the couch and up the stairs to the guest room before falling into his own bed, asleep before he manages to read more than a few pages of his current novel, more tired than he realized.

***

Derek wakes up the next morning and stumbles downstairs to a kitchen that already smells like coffee. Dex is at the stove, already dressed, frying bacon. Derek stops, confused. He was pretty sure the only breakfast food in the house was cereal. Dex glances at him.

“Hey, coffee’s on the counter, in that weird French press thing.” Dex tells him. “Can you not just have a normal coffeepot?” 

“Thanks. And French press coffee is better.” Derek pulls a mug out of the cabinet next to the stove, and pours himself a cup. He takes a sip, grimaces, and goes to get the milk out of the fridge. “Where did you get bacon? I didn’t know I had bacon. And is that pancake batter? Also, since when can you cook breakfast?”

“I got up this morning to go running, stopped by a convenience store on the way back. There was literally nothing in your fridge. Yes, this is pancake batter, I’m making those after the bacon. And I’ve always been able to cook.” Dex tells him, without looking up from the stove.

Derek leans back against the counter. “Dude, I’ve never seen you cook.” 

Dex shrugs. “I’m not great, not like Bitty, but I can at least feed myself, and breakfast isn’t hard. I help Bitty out in the kitchen sometimes, I know you’ve seen me.”

“I figured he was using you for your arm muscles, to help mix things. Or something.”

Dex rolls his eyes. “Bitty doesn’t need any help in that department, he’s got arm muscles of his own. You’re just jealous cause you got banished from the kitchen after that thing with the blueberry pies.”

“Hey,” Derek protests, “That was not my fault, the floor in there’s hella uneven.”

“Only you Nurse, could trip on air and end up with blueberry filling all over the curtains. The curtains behind you.” Dex pulls the bacon off the stove, pours some of the grease into an empty coffee mug, and starts making pancakes.

“Are you – “ Derek stops, not sure what question he wants to ask first. “Are you, um, frying pancakes in bacon grease?”

“Of course.” Dex gives him a look like he’s crazy for asking. “Best way to make pancakes. My mom –“ He stops suddenly, his face going blank as he turns back to the skillet. There’s an odd little pause. 

“Dex?” Derek asks, cautious. “Everything ok?”

There’s another moment of stillness before he replies.

“Everything’s fine.” His voice sounds weary. “Just… everything’s fine.” 

Derek doesn’t know what to do. He wants to badger Dex about it, push until it’s all out in the open, just so he’ll finally know what the hell is going on. But he knows, knows that’s a terrible idea. He still can’t help the skeptical “Ok,” that slips out. Dex’s shoulders tighten.

“Leave it alone, ok?” Dex says, defensive. Derek sighs internally and takes better control of his tongue. Now is not the time. He’ll ask later, when he has a chance at an actual answer.

“Ok.” He says, this time gently, as sincere as he can make it. They spend several minutes in silence. Derek sips his coffee. Dex flips the first batch of pancakes. Dex finally breaks the quiet after sliding the pancakes onto a plate.

“Come get ‘em while they’re hot.” His voice is strained but trying for levity. Derek purposefully bumps his shoulder as he reaches for the plate.

“Bet they’re not as good as Bitty’s.”

Dex relaxes, just a little. “No one’s are as good as Bitty’s.”

***

They spend another day wandering the city. Derek drags Dex to Rockfeller Center, first off, taking a photo at the very top, but otherwise they skip the most touristy stuff, instead wandering around to Derek’s favorite places in the city, like the gelato shop near Union Square and Grant’s Tomb, which most people forget exists. He usually spends a lot of time walking in Riverside Park in the summers, quieter than Central Park tends to be and frequently cooler too, tree-lined and near the river as it is. Late that afternoon, they end up at a local outdoor market, mostly by accident. Derek watches as Dex inspects produce, haggles with vendors, and ends up fixing the chiller at a stall that sells goat cheese. Dex fits here, better than Derek would have expected, and it makes something both tighten and loosen in his chest, as Dex jokes with the middle-aged woman selling goat cheese, the screwdriver attachment to his ever-present pocketknife out and disassembling some piece of machinery, only to clean it and put it back together better than before. It takes a little while, and by the time they start heading home with three bags of produce and a tub of goat cheese that the stall owners wouldn’t let Dex refuse, it’s almost seven. 

“So, dinner?” Derek asks as they stroll away from the bustle of market stalls.

“What do you think I got all this for?” Dex grins as he lifts the plastic bags. “I’m making vegetable pasta tonight.”

They walk in companionable silence for a block. Derek looks around, at this city that he loves and hates, and at the boy walking alongside him, who spent the day looking around wide-eyed at the masses of humanity that surged around them, at the buildings that reached up and blocked the sun, who allowed Derek to show him some of the secret places he keeps for himself, and seemed to understand the gift that they were. He wonders, again, why Dex is here. Maybe it’s better not to ask. 

***

Dex’s pasta is delicious. Derek sort of wants to be annoyed at this, because Dex has obviously been holding out on all of them, but instead he just steals the last piece of garlic bread.

“Seriously, when did you learn to cook?” Derek asks between bites of bread. “I thought you thought it was unmanly, or something, you made that comment about Bitty at the Taddy tour.”

Dex blushes. “First off, that was three years ago. I’m allowed to change my opinions, ok? Second, I never thought cooking was unmanly, or whatever, just baking. It’s important to be able to feed yourself. Cooking’s one of those essential life skills, you know, the ones you don’t have.”

“Hey!” Nursey scowls. “I take offense at that. Just because I can’t cook…”

“Dude.” The look Dex throws him is very unimpressed. “Chowder had to show you how to do laundry, that first month, and you’re still not very good at it. I’m not sure how you’ve survived this long.”

“Just because you’re Mr. Handyman or whatever…”

Dex snorts, which Derek’s figured out is his shorthand for ‘There’s no need to keep arguing because I’ve obviously won.’ Normally, Derek would keep arguing anyway, just because it’s fun, but in this case he’s at least gotten the last word, which is better than he would get if he kept at it. Dex might, might be right that he’s lacking in the basic life skills department. It’s not his fault there was never anyone around to show him how to do things like laundry. He has other skills, like knowing which train to take on the green line, and how to hail a cab.

Dex takes a final bite of pasta and stands, taking him his empty plate with him, before reaching for Derek’s.

“Hey!” Derek protests. “You cooked, shouldn’t I do the dishes?”

“Do you know how?” Dex asks, giving him the unimpressed eyebrow again.

“I,” Derek said loftily “am perfectly capable of loading a dishwasher.”

“Then be my guest.” Dex passes Derek his plate and sits back down, crossing his arms and watching as Derek stands, takes the plates, rinses them in the sink, and loads the dishwasher. When he finishes, he turns back to Dex in triumph. 

“I’m impressed, Nursey, you didn’t break a single dish.” Dex says dryly.

“See? I can do things.” Derek says, smug in his proved competence.

“But do you know how to turn it on?” Dex’s raised eyebrow is a challenge, but there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and the teasing feels good, normal, oddly like home. Derek wonders when Dex’s chirping became something that warmed him rather than left him cold and angry. He wonders when it started to feel almost safe, something that he was sure would go so far and no further, even those times when it devolved into actual fighting, shouting and wrestling included. When had he figured out that Dex’s exasperation and anger didn’t mean he would leave? And more importantly, Derek realized, when had he started caring if Dex did leave? 

Derek walks to the cabinet under the sink to get the soap, shoving Dex halfheartedly on his way past. 

***

“So, how long are you planning on staying?” Derek asks.

It’s after dinner, and they’re in the middle of a Mario Kart tournament Derek insisted on, declaring they needed to keep their skills sharp so they could take down the new tadpoles. Dex hadn’t needed much convincing.

“A few more days, if that’s ok?” Dex asks, his face intent. He runs through a question box and ends up with a banana peel, which he immediately drops with a noise of disgust. “If you’ve got things to do, need me to go, I can clear out whenever.”

“No, dude, not what I meant.” Derek chokes back the overly honest ‘please stay, I hate being alone in this fucking house’ in favor of the chill, “Stay as long as you want.”

“A few more days then.” Dex says. “Today’s what, Wednesday? I’ll head out on Saturday, gives me time pack up the rest of my stuff so I’m ready to move in to the Haus next week.”

“Great, man.” Derek considers this. He hadn’t exactly forgotten that he was supposed to head back to Samwell next week, but he’d learned the summer before that counting down the days just made everything worse, made the summer seem even longer than it was. Dex probably had the date the semester started circled in red with an attached packing list and a timed move-in itinerary. Derek knew the packing list, at least, did exist. It was itemized. He’d asked Dex for a copy last year in an attempt to make his next move-in more organized. Maybe he should find it. “What day were you planning to move? Do we want to coordinate, or would I be in the way?”

Dex shrugs. “Dunno yet.”

If Derek didn’t need to keep his eyes on Luigi to prevent Dex from beating him at what was, thankfully, a fairly easy track, he would have stared at Dex in shock. Instead, it comes out in a brief stutter on the controls and in his voice. “Really? Dex, you always have a plan for move in!” 

“Not this year.” Dex tells him, face a scowl of concentration. He throws a shell with devastating affect.

“Seriously bro, did you take spontaneity pills or something? A sudden trip to New York, no move-in plans, are you –“ Derek leans to the right in a fruitless attempt to get his player to also move that direction. “- sure everything’s ok?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” Dex says, right before crossing the finish line a few seconds before Derek. He turns to give him smirk, but there’s something off, the same off thing that’s been making Derek uneasy since Dex called him out of the blue and asked if he could stay for a while. He puts down his controller.

“Because this whole thing is weirdly non-Dex?” Derek pauses. “Dude, you plan everything.” 

“Not everything.” Dex says, glancing away.

“Everything important. And to you? Move-in is important.” Derek points out. “Hell, your entire family comes down to help. And this year you’re moving into the Haus, which is extra important, so you would definitely have a plan. I’m honestly surprised you didn’t call to work me in to that plan.”

There’s a moment of tense quiet while Dex fidgets. Derek knows he should wait it out, let Dex tell him what he wants to in his own time, but Derek hates this kind of quiet. It reminds him far too much of mandatory family dinners. “So what the fuck is going on, dude?”

Dex slumps, sighs, runs his hands over his head, ends up clutching his hair, face half-hidden by his forearms. “Can’t you just leave it alone?”

“No.” There’s a moment. A sigh of defeat.

“I’m not sure my family’s coming down this year.” Dex mumbles, his fingers digging harder into his scalp.

“Oh.” Derek can’t think of what else to say. He remembers freshman year, before he even really knew Dex, back when he was just Will Poindexter, other newbie, watching in awe and confusion as what seemed to be an entire clan of redheads hauled boxes into a dorm room. It was just five people, Dex’s parents and his two youngest siblings, but to Derek, who’d moved in by himself that morning with two suitcases and a hockey bag of equipment, it was an unbelievable crowd. He’s never been able to label the strange surge of emotion that came over him when Chowder dragged him in so they could say hello and he saw Dex’s mom carefully making the bed. The closest he’s managed is longing, but that’s not quite it. The whole process was repeated the next year, except this time Derek was standing in the doorway chirping Dex as he unpacked all his desk supplies, instead of watching from down the hall. Dex’s sister had high-fived him for one particularly good comment about color-coded binders. “Why? Is it…could they not get off work or something?”

“Or something, yeah.” Dex says, rubbing his hands over his face. “Can we get back to the game now?” 

“Sure.” Derek picks his controller back up and starts scrolling through track options. He selects the weird ice track and steals a look at Dex as it loads. He’s staring intently at the TV, so all Derek can see is his profile, but that actually makes him easier to read. Derek first learned Dex from the side, on the ice, out of the corner of his eye. Right now, he’s hurting but won’t admit it, mouth tight, eyes focused, breath controlled, the same as after that hard check in the Dartmouth game, where afterwards his whole side was black and blue, or the time he twisted his knee, or when he tried to practice through a cold so bad it might as well have been the flu. This pain isn’t physical, but the tells are similar enough. Derek debates pushing. His track record’s about 50/50 when it comes to getting Dex to admit he’s hurt, but this is very new territory. They don’t do emotional with each other. That’s what Chowder and Bitty are for. 

But they’re not here, and Derek is, and what’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like they haven’t done the screaming-fight-thing, and at this point a fight might actually be good, or at least normal. So Derek ignores the part of himself that says to just leave it alone, and instead takes a deep breath and splashes into the deep. 

“Dex, why are you here?” He asks.

Dex tenses. “To visit you? Is this a trick question? Are you about to go off on some kind of rant on the meaning of life?”

“No, I mean,” Derek takes another breath. “Why did you decide to come visit me? Not that you’re not welcome, or anything like that, just…. We don’t really do this? We’re friends, yeah, but not really visit each other over the break friends, not like Ransom and Holster. I mean, you could barely stand the thought of living together, and even if you decided to come down as some kind of test run or something, normally I’d get at least a few weeks advance warning, not a call the night before. And you’ve been off, a little, and, I… I’ve got your back, bro? You know?”

Dex just looks at him. “Um… I know? And it’s not that I don’t like you, it’s that living together means we’ll be together all the time, and that’s…a lot. You drive me crazy sometimes, and the break is… important. I… Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean we’ll be good roommates.

Derek rewinds the conversation, and throws up a hand, annoyed. “Way to avoid the real question, bro.”

“I don’t… what do you want me to say, Nurse?” Dex asks, before turning his face determinedly forward. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Really?”

Dex slumps. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“I…” Derek shakes his head. “I don’t think I should.”

“Fine. Fine.” Dex looks down, sees how his hands are clutching at the controller, and puts it next to him, only to clench his hands on his thighs instead. He takes a breath, and his voice comes out soft, quiet. “Did I ever mention I’m bi?”

Derek blinks. “Um…no.”

“Well, I am.” Dex unclenches his hands, rubs them on his jeans.

“Uh… thank you for trusting me with this moment? That’s what Shitty generally says, I think?” Derek is reeling, trying to catch up. This is not where he expected the conversation to go at all. Dex… likes guys? Sometimes? He firmly banishes the stray thought that asks, ‘does that mean he could like me?’ Now is not the time.

Dex huffs, a weird non-laugh. “That sounds like Shitty. I, um, I keep it pretty quiet. Chowder knows, ‘cause, well, Chowder, and I’m pretty sure Lardo caught me making out with a guy at that theatre party Ford invited us to, but otherwise…”

“You… you know none of us would care right?” Derek asks, a little desperate. Dex just looks lost. “Bitty would probably bake you a pie.”

“Oh, I know.” Dex rolls his eyes. “I’m trying to avoid that. The emotional circus and Ransom and Holster’s date spreadsheets in particular.”

Derek winces. The spreadsheets can be a bit much.

“Yeah, well… Yeah.” Dex shrugs, pick up his controller. “So, Mario Kart?”

“Mario Kart.” They get halfway through the first lap before Derek’s brain quits shrieking ‘bi, bi, Dex is bi’ at him and he realizes that Dex still hasn’t answered the question. Which he now needs to get answered because something is really wrong if Dex came out to him as some kind of avoidance strategy. He drops his controller, ignoring the game, and turns to look at Dex.

“Wait, wait, wait. Thank you for trusting me, all that, but nothing you just said explains why you are here.”

Dex is silent. Derek stares at him for a moment, attempts the single eyebrow raise of interrogation, gives it up as a lost cause, and goes back to staring. The whole time, Dex refuses to look away from the screen, all of his attention inexplicably captured by an animated go-cart. In desperation, Derek pokes him.

“What, Nurse?” Dex shouts, jerking away and glaring at him.

“What is going on? Really, no avoidance, what is going on?” Derek asks.

The glare intensifies for a moment, before Dex throws his hands up and turns away. “You’re an asshole, you know that, right? Leave it.” 

Dex gets up from the couch and walks to the TV, pretending to fiddle with something. Derek watches the way his shoulders have gone up around his ears and considers backing off, but decides he might as well keep pushing at this point. If this ends up in a fight, then they’ll fight. They can put five floors between them afterwards, if they need to.

“No.” He tells Dex. “Something is obviously wrong, and I’m going to keep bothering you until you tell me. So you might as well tell me.”

“It’s none of your business.” Dex’s voice is a low warning, one Derek’s used to ignoring.

“I don’t care!”

“Fine!” Dex yells, spinning back to look at Derek, fists clenched at his sides, face red. “Fine! You want to know what’s wrong? I got outed to my parents, ok? That’s what’s wrong!” 

The silence is sudden and all encompassing. Dex sighs, drops his shoulders, runs his hand over his face and into his hair, and walks back over to collapse on the couch. “Happy now?”

“They… they didn’t know?” Derek asks, soft.

“No, Nurse.” Dex says, quiet, aching. “They didn’t.”

“Oh.” Derek feels horrible, for pushing Dex, for whatever happened, for not letting it go when Dex asked. He’s sitting, very still, head down, body loose, weary, a look that belongs to the aftermaths of hard games lost. Derek hates it. And he’s never been able to do anything about it either.

“Why… what happened?” He asks.

Dex shrugs. “It was stupid. There was…I’m, I’m pretty careful, you know? Discreet. Especially when I’m home. I don’t, I save that kind of stuff for Samwell. But there’s this other guy, um, Jake, who’s… out, and he got caught with this other guy on the beach. Other guy’s not out, I mean, really not out, parents would disown him or worse if they knew not out, so when someone starts badgering Jake about who he was with, won’t leave him alone ‘till Jake gives ‘em a name he tells them me, because we’re friends, and he thinks I’m straight, and knows my parents won’t… well, he assumes I can just laugh it off, will maybe be annoyed but not angry, and not… in trouble or anything. And everyone assumed he was lying, of course, but it got everyone off his back for a while.”

Dex sighs, rubs his hand over his face. “He was just trying to protect his boyfriend, I get it, and it wouldn’t have been a big deal but it got back to my parents, who asked me about it, mock serious, because they know Jake and it seems like some kind of stunt he’d pull just to stir things up or get someone off his back, and they’re ok with it because I’m not actually gay and they know that. And normally I’d laugh it off, another one of Jake’s antics, but it had just been one of those days, and I was tired, and… and done. So instead of laughing it off or getting annoyed like they expected I told them that, yes, it was me, and by the way I’m bi. They went pretty quiet after that.”

Dex huffs, grimaces. “Not exactly the way I was planning to come out. Can’t even really blame Jake, he didn’t know.”

“So, you then you decided to come see me? Why….” Derek has a sudden horrible thought. “Did they kick you out? Is that what happened? Fuck, Dex –“

“No, no,” Dex interrupts, hands up in slow down gesture. “They didn’t kick me out, I left. Decided it was better if I wasn’t around for a couple of days while they get themselves figured out.”

“What do you mean, get themselves figured out? What’s there to figure out? You’re bi, it’s not… not like…Will.” Derek spreads his hands out, unable to find words to say what he needs. 

“You know, I think it might be easier if I was just gay?” Dex says, matter-of-fact. “They could do gay, they could get gay, they like Jake well enough, but bi… well, they don’t understand why I don’t just choose to be straight then, date women, act normal. Gay, gay they could handle. With bi I guess they think it’s some kind of choice.”

“That’s not how it works.” Derek feels frantic, needs Dex to understand.

“I know. Don’t you think I know?” Dex says, calm. “Anyway, I went up to my room, packed, emailed them a bunch of articles, and left, told ‘em I’d be at a friends for a while. Called you from the car. It’s not…” There’s a hitch in his breath, but his words come out even. “It’s not that they don’t love me, they do, and they will no matter what, I know that, I just… I can’t deal with all the suppressed ‘where did we go wrong’ worry.”

“Dex, Dex,” Derek is helpless, and he’s angry, and he wants to reach out and pull Dex into a hug but he’s pretty sure it’s a bad idea, “there’s nothing wrong with you. You know that, right?”

“I know. I’m not… I know.” There’s an understanding in Dex’s voice that Derek hates.

“And if your parents…. If you ever need a place… you’re… I’ll always have at least a couch, ok?”

Dex laughs, small. “Thanks. And they’ll come around. It… It’ll just take a little while. It’s all been theoretical before, you know? Now it’s someone they care about. It’s just better if I’m not there for all the aftershocks.”

Derek gives up on sense and pulls Dex into a hug. He goes immediately stiff. 

“Nurse…”

“Shh, bro, just accept it.” Derek whispers. Dex sighs, but after a few seconds his body relaxes, and his head goes down on Derek’s shoulder. Derek runs a hand down his back to around his waist and pulls him in tighter. He aches for Dex, whose parents would ask him to smother part of himself because it might make things easier, parents who he knows Dex has already forgiven for the hurt that he’ll never fully admit to them. He wants to be angry at Dex for that, but he can’t be. Instead, he just hurts. Sooner than Derek would like, Dex pulls away.

“Thanks.” Dex says, fiddling with one of the controllers. Derek watches as he pulls himself back together. “So, we’re obviously starting this track over, right?”

“Definitely.” Derek accepts the obvious subject change and restarts the game. They play in silence for a while, until Dex lets out a tentative chirp about Derek’s apparent inability to sit still while playing and Derek fires back a rejoinder. Things get easier after that, normal. But Dex is looser, just a bit, and Derek is fiercely glad. He can’t fix any of this, but maybe he can make it lighter. 

“So, I was thinking about moving in on Thursday.” He says, tentative. “That way I have a full day before the weekend catch-up starts. Should we go ahead and flip for top bunk?”

There’s a pause, before Dex looks over and glares at him. It’s only half-strength, but it’s something. “There is no way I’m letting you have the top bunk. You’d fall out of it and break something, and somehow, it would be all my fault, and I would have to listen to your whining as you healed.”

At the very least, it’s a start.

**Author's Note:**

> Dex gets outed to his parents as bi. They don't react super well (of the confusion, then why can't you only date girls variety) and he leaves for a few days to give them time to come to terms with it.


End file.
